


this romantic atmosphere (disaster's in the air)

by cowboykillers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6143536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykillers/pseuds/cowboykillers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Cassandra very earnestly gives Cullen advice on his love life and Varric has way too much fun at everybody else's expense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this romantic atmosphere (disaster's in the air)

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" about 100 times last night, and this is the direct result of that. 
> 
> alternative summary: that one where Varric is Timon and Cassandra is Pumbaa.

"They are at it _again_."

Cassandra's palms hit the scarred tabletop with enough force to make Varric wince, swinging his tankard high and wide to avoid having its contents slopped all over him. He hunches his shoulders, furrowing his brow at her, and decides that he has a couple of options: he can ask her what's wrong, he can wait her out, or he can change the subject and hope for the best. The third one's probably out, considering she's got her teeth in the matter and he doesn't know anyone more tenacious with an idea than Cassandra, which leaves him with option A or B. Waiting her out is probably the lesser of two evils (and the least likely to have her ire turned on him), but waiting for her to come down from her irritation long enough to articular what's got her tail so in a knot, well...

He sips at his ale, watching her warily as she tips her head from side to side, cracking her neck. A few tense moments pass between them, Cassandra's hands curling into fists against the table, and they maintain uneasy eye contact for one beat, two --

And then she sighs, explosively, and drops into the chair across from him.

"Everything okay there, Seeker?" He ventures, watching her wave away the bartender when he calls out to her.

 _Uh oh_ , he thinks. If she's not here to drink, she's here for somebody specific, and if she's sitting in front of him, the possibilities of exactly who she's looking for are getting narrower and narrower by the minute.

"No, it is not," she says emphatically, bringing her bunched fists to her lap and pinning him with a severe look. "They are incapable of getting along lately, and it is very poor for morale. Something must be done."

For lack of anything better to do with his hands or mouth, Varric takes another long pull of his drink, trying not to fidget under the weight of her gaze.

He mostly succeeds.

Sighing internally, he leans forward slightly, setting his mug down and working his tongue around his mouth. Dealing with a woman like Cassandra requires a certain... delicacy, he decides, that a lot of people wouldn't really expect, considering how headstrong and brash she often is. She's the type of woman who will metaphorically (and okay, maybe sometimes literally) kick a door down if that happens to be the path of least resistance, but just because she'd rather go through than around doesn't necessarily mean that's the best way to handle _her_. 

Not that Varric claims to be a professional when it comes to handling Cassandra. Half the time, he just runs from her. Little hard to do that when she's boring holes into his soul, though, so he resigns himself to the conversation at hand, philosophically deciding to make the best of it.

"Okay, I give," he says, settling back and lacing his hands over his stomach. "Who's fighting? Because for something that's bad for morale, I haven't gotten wind of it."

The look Cassandra gives him implies she thinks him very simple indeed, and Varric is tempted to exit this conversation stage right in about a hot minute.

"Cullen and Dorian," she says flatly, and he blinks, twice.

"Oh." His grin is as wide as it is knowing, and he shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. "I see."

"Yes, you see!" Cassandra lifts both of her hands in a timelessly frustrated gesture, and then seems to realize she's getting herself a little too worked up -- she flushes, barely, and takes a deep breath before continuing. "And I have tried to talk to Cullen, but he sidesteps, and when he doesn't do that, he plays ignorant. You have a way with people, as loathe as I am to admit it. You will talk sense into at least one of them."

"Why, Seeker, I didn't know you thought so highly of me." He's grinning as he reaches for his ale again, wondering vaguely if anyone is eavesdropping on their conversation. For posterity, of course.

"Well, I am not going to have _The Iron Bull_ do it," she scoffs, holding up a hand and ticking off her fingers. "Solas is useless as well, they all hate each other at least a little, and I have given up trying to mend that. Vivienne, no, Leliana has more important things to do--"

"I'm glad you think so highly of _my_ duties around Skyhold--"

"--Josephine will try to make it a, a political statement, when it does not need to be such an ordeal--"

"Okay, okay." Varric lifts one hand, waving her down. "I'll talk to Curly and Sparkler. Just so you know, though, they're not fighting."

He's a little disappointed to see how quickly her face shifts from surprised satisfaction to consternation, but that's Cassandra for you. He's never met a woman who wore her heart more on her sleeve, hilariously enough.

"What do you mean, they aren't fighting?" She gestures vaguely in the direction of Cullen's office, frown deepening. "I just heard Cullen muttering about how fractious and disagreeable Dorian is not half an hour ago, and his mood is bleaker than I've seen it in some time."

Smug and more than a little amused, Varric leans forward, gesturing for Cassandra to mimic the movement. "Let me let you in on a secret, Seeker. Hey, don't make that face, I'm being serious."

Though she grumbles something under her breath about it, Cassandra nevertheless leans in, expression so earnest that it makes him wish, for just a second, that they were better friends. He'd dearly love to be able to tease her about all this, but he's pretty sure she'd turn him into her next practice dummy. C'est la vie.

"They're not fighting," he says, drawing out the suspense as he raises one finger, swirling it for dramatic effect. "They're _flirting_."


End file.
